


Splashes of Colour

by HamHamHeaven



Series: Greyscale [22]
Category: Dog in the PWO, Fest Vainqueur, Jrock, LUNA SEA, X JAPAN, the GazettE
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Colorblind Soulmate AU, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, M/M, Painter Mei (Dog in the PWO), Photographer Uruha (the GazettE), Polyamory, Porn Star Kai (the GazettE), Ruki (the GazettE) Swears a Lot, Ruki swears a lot, Sculptor Ruki (the GazettE), Triad relationship, Writer I'll (Fest Vainqueur)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-10-19 18:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17606672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamHamHeaven/pseuds/HamHamHeaven
Summary: Brief glimpses into the lives of 5 different artists.





	1. Photographer - Uruha

**Author's Note:**

> My February fill for the DW VKYaoi community challenge, using moodboard #5 [Artist](https://vkyaoi.tumblr.com/private/179568376340/tumblr_phduypNamB1x3atgk) and quote #19 Miyavi "No One Knows my Name":  
> I look at my life and what it means  
> Searching for land when I'm lost at sea
> 
> Some of these characters have appeared in previous installments in the !Verse; others haven't. I don't think you need to be familiar with any of the other stories to make sense of these vignettes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Takashima!”

Uruha glares in annoyance at the photo prints that have just been flung across the desk at him.

“What the fuck is this!”

It’s a statement, not a question.  Ruki doesn’t really ask questions.  That would imply that he cares about other people’s opinions.  Uruha treats it as a question anyway, just to get under the designer’s skin.

“I dunno; it looks like a ring to me.”

Deflecting is all he can do, because he knows exactly what the irate chibi is talking about, and he’s not ready to have this conversation with anyone.  Least of all with Ruki.

“ _Does_ it?” Ruki spits venom.  “Because _I_ thought you’d sent me a piece of Koron’s shit by mistake.”

“Maybe you should actually have some lenses put in those stupid plastic frames you wear,” Uruha retorts.  “It’s a ring, Ruki, a silver ring.  Like each and every one of the other 2 million silver rings you’ve designed.  If you don’t like it, maybe you should spend a little more time at the drafting table and a little less riding Kai-san’s dick or jumping up and down on my last nerve.”

Ruki’s eyes narrow, but he cannot be distracted by such feeble insults.

“My designs are flawless,” he sniffs contemptuously. “What is _not_ flawless is your piss-poor photography.  What do you feel when you look at this?”

“Nothing.”

“Good.  At least we’re on the same page!”

“I never feel _anything_ when I look at your shit,” Uruha lies.  “It’s just hunks of metal against flesh.”

“This looks like something a drunk child took with a cheap Polaroid, and you know it.  The lighting is off.  The colour is off.  The angles are….”

“It’s in black and white.  How could the colour be off?”

An innocuous question, and yet something about it gives Uruha away.  Facial expression, maybe, or just a hint too much bitterness in his tone.

“Holy mother of fuck, you met your soulmate.”

The very word makes Uruha feel sick to his stomach.

“Which is entirely _your_ fault.”

“The hell it is!” snorts Ruki.

“If you had just let me use one of my regular models for this shoot, everything would have been fine, but no!  You had to insist on using some complete amateur you picked up from gods only know where because he has ‘amazing bone structure’, and in the process ruined my entire goddamned life!”

Ruki puts his hands on his hips and glares.

“One, your regular models are _boring_.  I don’t do boring.  Two, Toshiya _does_ have amazing bone structure, and you know it too, only you’re too pissy to admit I’m right.  Three, I ‘picked him up from’ a very exclusive club called None Of Your Fuckin’ Business I Pay You To Take Pictures Not To Think.  And four, how the fuck was I supposed to know he was your soulmate?  Osmosis?”

“Osmosis, that’s… don’t use words if you don’t know what they mean,” mocks Uruha.  “It just makes you sound ignorant.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Ruki demands with a stamp of his heeled boot. “Promos for the new line are supposed to go to the printers this week, and these photos are completely unusable.  I wouldn’t put shit like this on a diaper advertisement.  If you don’t pull your head out of your ass and get this shit under control, you’re going to lose half your client base.”

“D’you think I don’t know that!”

Uruha comes across the desk at his client, making use of the only advantage he’s ever had with Ruki: his height.

“I tried every trick I could think of, Ruki.  _Everything_!  Cheats I haven’t needed since first semester at art school.  _Nothing_ worked.  You call these ‘shit’, and you’re right, but believe it or not, I sent you the best ones I had.”

Ruki purses his lips and frowns.

“I believe you.”

Uruha rakes his hands through his hair in frustration.

“I am not a black and white photographer; I’m a colour-blind photographer,” he laughs miserably.  “Who is no longer colour blind, and _apparently_ no longer talented.  One random person you thought was hot, and I fucking lose my art.  Lose _myself_.”

If anything is capable of making Ruki feel sympathy, this would be it.  Art is his life.  If he lost it….

“I’ll have Haido book an emergency shoot with Shou. Tell him you’re overbooked.  Came down with the plague.  Something.  That will give you six weeks until the fashion show to get your shit together.  After that….”

Ruki doesn’t finish the thought, but he doesn’t need to.  Uruha knows exactly what he means.

“Six weeks.  Yeah.  Got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **1)** Chibi-sama swearing should be a given at this point.  
>  **2)** Photographer Uruha is the totally-expected [glasses-wearing](https://66.media.tumblr.com/dd23cc68124de60b0ccc936ece3b60b6/tumblr_n6mf2zq1NN1rhn4tio1_500.jpg) version.  
>  **3)** Please don't get your hopes up for me to actually write Uru/Totchi. It's never gonna happen.


	2. Writer - Airu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 「I think we should break up.」

 

Airu gapes in utter astonishment at the words that have just trickled from his pen onto the page of his notebook. 

_Break up.  Where the hell did that come from?!_

He sets the pen aside, caps the bottle of ink, and leans back in his chair, as if physical distance from the phrase, which seems to reach right off the paper at him, will provide the impartial perspective he desperately needs.

 

“Airu-kun?”

A gentle hand comes to rest on his shoulder and a cup of steaming tea is placed on the desk.

“Is anything the matter?”

Airu slowly drags his eyes from the condemnatory black ink to gaze rather helplessly into the face of his partner.

“They… are breaking up.”

Shin’s brows knit in confusion.

“Who?”

Airu turns back to the page, scrutinizing it again in the fanciful hope that the words might have disappeared.

“Emi and Keita.”

“Your main characters?”  Shin crouches down at Airu’s side.  “But I thought the final chapter was going to be the two of them getting engaged.”

The author nods faintly.

“I did too, but….”

“What happened?”

“I… they’ve been dragging their feet all week.  Hedging.  Refusing to give me plot.  So I’ve been working on this conversation trying to nudge them toward a point where it would make sense for them to go out and find the next clue.”

Shin nods.  He’s quite used to Airu talking about the characters of his novels as if they have personalities and wills of their own.

“One minute they are talking about how the investigation has stalled and they feel like they’re running in circles; and the next – I don’t know! – the entire discussion has become a metaphor for how dissatisfied they are with their relationship, and before I knew it,” he gestures helplessly toward the notebook, “Emi is saying she wants to break up.”

“Can you delete the scene and start the conversation over?  Get it going on the right track again?”

Airu shakes his head ruefully.  Shin is incredibly supportive, but he really doesn’t _get_ how writing works.

“It’s too late.  Even if I delete the scene, I can’t un-ring the bell.  The idea’s out there now.  They know it; I know it.  And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Meditatively, Shin leans his head against Airu’s arm.

“What about making some edits to earlier chapters?  Correcting the problem for them before it _is_ a problem – so they don’t get to the point of _wanting_ to break up.”

Airu twiddles a strand of Shin’s hair through his fingers and frowns at the half-filled sheet of paper.

“I don’t think I can,” he mutters.  “The more I think about it..., the only way I could have avoided this was by not having them get together three books ago.  I don’t think this relationship was ever _meant_ to last.  I just didn’t see it at the time.  My readers are going to be so pissed off.”

“Some might be.  But maybe it’s the right thing anyway,” replies Shin with a light squeeze to Airu’s thigh.  “Maybe some of your readers _need_ to see a couple being honest about their relationship not working any longer rather than sticking with something unfulfilling out of habit.”

Airu smiles wryly down at his partner and gives Shin a lingering kiss on the forehead.

“Maybe so.  I just hope I can get my publisher to agree with you.”

Shin chuckles softly.

“I have faith in you.  Now, finish writing your break-up, and I’ll go find you something stronger than tea.”

With a heavy sigh, Airu grabs up the pen and uncorks the ink again.

_Let’s see where the muses go from here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **1)** I've decided to spell their names Airu and Shin in the story rather than "I'll and S!N" in order to make things easier to read. Why did Airu get paired with Shin of all people you ask? Because apparently all it takes to get my brain to ship people is for them to stand [side by side](https://i.pinimg.com/474x/25/0a/ae/250aaed6c0ff32a02c99282d3b207a65.jpg).  
>  **2)** This is the sort of dilemma I have all the time while writing: thinking I know where things are going, only to have my muses go completely off into the weeds. And usually all I can do is shrug and hang on for the ride.


	3. Musician - Yoshiki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rain beats a heavy cadence on the side of the building.  In the diffuse grey light, Yoshiki gazes morosely down at the piano keys, fingers brushing lightly over their polished surface.  He’s been playing since he was four; he doesn’t really remember what it’s like to not know how.  Music – this instrument – is as much a part of him as his breath and heartbeat.

_If the doctors are right…._

He shoves the thought away angrily, flexing his tingling fingers, and closes his eyes, letting his hands come to rest where they belong.  Breathe in, breathe out, play.

Debussy’s Arabesque begins to flow out of him, through the piano’s strings, into the vibrating air.  It’s soothing and familiar, but it isn’t the piece his hands want to play.  Before he’s even half-way through, he gives up and switches to the song that’s been weighing on his mind since he got the results of his latest MRI. 

“Vow of Devotion”, the first song he composed for X’s joint album with Luna Sea, features a beautiful duet between his piano and his lover’s violin.  It’s a classic sort of rock love ballad and as public a declaration as he’s ever made of the truth in his heart: that he belongs to Sugizo body and soul.

_Broken body._

  


Sugizo always knows that the first place to look for his soulmate is in the music room, so he’s not at all surprised to find Yoshiki there practicing for the upcoming tour.  Tired though he is after a long day of meetings, he can’t resist grabbing up the nearest violin and joining in, adding the harmony of his strings to the first chorus of _his_ song.

The tune sounds different today than usual.  Yoshiki’s tempo is much faster than they’ve ever performed it, and there’s something almost aggressive in the way he’s hammering out the chords.  Sugizo tries to match the mood, altering the way he bows to produce a bit more of a scratchy growl.  By the time it’s over, he feels like he’s just finished running a race.

“I’ve never heard that song sound so heart-breaking before,” he observes as he sets the bow aside.

“Wouldn’t sound as tragic if you didn’t keep missing that accidental during the bridge.”

Sugizo is used to Yoshiki-the-producer critiquing his performance, but the sourness in his lover’s voice surprises him.

“It’s an awkward position shift, particularly at that speed,” he defends.

Yoshiki sniffs disdainfully.

“If you’d let me leave it in the key signature I originally wrote….”

“We’ve been over this a dozen times,” Sugizo sighs and plunks down on the bench beside his soulmate.  “The original key was too high for as late in the set as you want this performed.  We musicians can deal with an extra sharp here or there, but poor Toshi-san and Ryuu-kun would have ended up with shredded vocal chords before we’d finished half the tour.  None of us is as young as we used to be, and they can’t sustain those notes like they could in their early twenties.”

“Don’t use age as an excuse with me,” snaps Yoshiki.  “ _Some_ of us plan on giving everything we’ve got to make this tour perfect, because music _is_ everything, and if we don’t have that, then what’s the point!”

Sugizo finally notices what the hypnotic spell of the melody had initially camouflaged.  Yoshiki’s posture is all wrong.  The change is subtle, but it’s obvious to someone who knows him as well as Sugizo does: spine slightly hunched, shoulders slumped, elbows tucked inward, hands drawn protectively against his abdomen.  As if he’s in pain but trying to hide it.

“Are we talking about some inevitable, distant ‘someday we’ll all be too old for this’,” Sugizo asks in concern, “Or is there something you haven’t told me?”

Yoshiki doesn’t answer, but a visible shudder runs through him.

“Oh, Babe.”

Sugizo’s arms wind around his soulmate, cradling him like he’s the most precious treasure in the world.  Because to Sugizo, he _is_.  Yoshiki leans into the embrace, forehead dropping to Sugizo’s shoulder to hide the anguish he knows must be visible on his face.

“Whatever it is,” Sugizo murmurs against his lover’s neck, “We’ll get through it together.  Music is as much a part of you as I am, and I won’t let you lose either one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **1)** So that thing I said in the comments of last chapter about muses going off into the weeds... yeah, that's totally what happened here. This was _not_ supposed to be anywhere near this angsty.  
>  **2)** As far as I can tell, this is set a few weeks after the press conference in Drown my Past in Grey, which makes the time stamp late-ish 2015.  
>  **3)** I don't think Yo-sama has ever recorded Debussy's [Arabesque](https://youtu.be/9Fle2CP8gR0) IRL, but I love the piece, so that's what he gets to play here. "Vow of Devotion" is obviously something I made up.


	4. Sculptor - Ruki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “…And she wants me to reiterate that if you’re ever in L.A., she’d love to set up an exhibition for you.”

Ruki examines his manicure inattentively, waiting for the gallery owner to finish her spiel so that he can collect his commission and leave.  Normally, he’d just grab his paycheque and walk away, politeness be damned, but since her wife and soulmate are two of the co-sponsors of a very prestigious fashion show that will be featuring his latest jewellery line, he has to at least feign civility for the next two weeks.  He heaves a loud sigh and glances toward his boyfriend, hoping Kai will take the hint and provide some sort of excuse to leave. 

Kai, however, isn’t paying any more attention to Ruki than Ruki is to the art dealer.  He’s thoughtfully studying one of the statues near the atrium, Koron tucked discretely under his arm to circumvent the ‘No Dogs or Children Allowed’ rule.  His head’s cocked to one side, lips curved in a soft smile with just a hint of his dimple showing.  Ruki would never in a million years admit it aloud, because not giving a fuck about what anyone else thinks of his art is His Thing, but deep down it bothers him a little that Kai has never looked at any of _his_ work with that sort of admiration. 

The longer he watches, the more irritated Ruki becomes, until with some barely-coherent excuse about an appointment with the dog groomer, he snatches the envelope from her hand and storms across the gallery.

“Ugh… _so_ conventional.”

He shoves between Kai and the sculpture, making a show of rolling his eyes as he grabs Koron from his boyfriend’s hand and drags them both toward the exit.  Kai offers an awkward bow to the proprietress before allowing himself to be manhandled through the door and out onto the street.

“The technique is conventional you mean?” Kai asks as Ruki digs through his bag for his sunglasses.

“Technique is kind of a given with marble,” Ruki begrudgingly allows.  “There’s only so many ways you can carve stone that won’t result in a pile of useless rubble.  That’s why I prefer metal and glass.”

He sets Koron on the ground, and the little Chihuahua, thrilled to be _down_ , rushes forward to sniff at the nearest utility pole.

“Then I really don’t see what’s so conventional about it,” replies Kai, bemused.  “It’s two women kissing.”

“Exactly!  Is there anything in life more cliché than the heterosexual male obsession with lesbians?”

Kai frowns as he falls into step beside his boyfriend.

“The placard said the artist is female.”

“And she’s playing to an audience.  It’s trite.”

“Not if that’s her life experience,” Kai defends.  “I’d bet there are plenty of people who misunderstand _your_ work too, but that doesn’t make your message any less valid.”

The more Kai stands up for this mystery artist, the more resentful Ruki feels toward her and her stupid statue.

“Her _message_ is fucking pointless.”

“Since when are love and beauty pointless?”

“Since that’s not reality!” Ruki snaps peevishly.  “The world isn’t fucking hearts and flowers; it’s harsh and grotesque and ugly.  People can bury their heads in the sand and pretend all they want, but I show life for what it _is_ , not some sugar-coated make-believe bullshit.”

As they wait at the corner for the traffic light to change, Kai examines Ruki’s contemptuous sneer and clenched jaw carefully.

 _Is that_ _insecurity he’s seeing under all that haughtiness?_

“There _is_ a lot of ugliness in the world,” he acknowledges slowly, “And I’ll grant you that turning a blind eye to it isn’t a healthy way to cope.  But there’s plenty of beauty in the world too, Ruki, and I think it’s just as harmful to wilfully ignore that by focusing solely on the negative.”

Ruki gives a low scoff.

“Name _one_ thing in this shitty world that’s anything more than just superficially beautiful.”

“You are.”

Ruki slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, ready to tell Kai off for his flattery, but his boyfriend continues.

“I’m constantly amazed by your imagination and creativity.  Your passion.  The way your mind works is _really_ beautiful.  And your dedication to your work?  Stunning.”

He says it so frankly, so _earnestly_ , that the sculptor can’t formulate a retort.  Public opinion may be irrelevant to him, but being on the receiving end of Kai’s praise makes him feel warm all over.  In fact, he has to shove his sunglasses back into place and brush his hair forward to conceal how flushed his cheeks have become.

“You’re an idiot,” he mutters weakly.

Idiot or not, Ruki’s arm still secures itself around Kai’s waist and Kai’s still drapes comfortably across Ruki’s shoulder as they stroll along the familiar pavement, with Koron investigating every fascinating scent his little doggy nose encounters on their way home.

 _Oh yes,_ muses Kai, _there’s plenty of beauty in the world if you know where to look._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **1)** If you don't love Kai's dimple, what's wrong with you, honestly? Who hurt you? Because Kai's so precious when he smiles. I can't even....  
>  **2)** Of all the stories to go fluffy on me, I certainly didn't expect it to be the one starring Chibi-sama. These boys are keeping me on my toes.


	5. Painter - Mei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After nearly four years of sharing a tiny flat with two other guys, Kanna has developed skewed definitions of “noisy” and “messy”.  They do their best to keep the place liveable, of course, but auditory and visual clutter are pretty much a given.  Which makes the stillness that greets him as he returns from his daily cycling that much stranger.  Mei’s shoes, jacket, and satchel are all tossed in their usual corner of the genkan, so Kanna ought to hear the drone of the television, the tinny chirp of a radio, the shower running – _something_.  Yet nothing louder than the hum of the refrigerator fan greets him.

The silence is deafening.  Troubling.

“Mei-kun?” Kanna calls but receives no reply.

He sets his helmet aside, and is just untying his cycling shoes when Mizuki strolls through the door.

“Tadaima.”

He bends down to give Kanna a peck on the forehead.

“Mei-chan beat us home?”

“I guess so, but….”

Kanna shrugs and gestures toward the main room.  Mizuki cocks his head, brow wrinkling in confusion when he too notices the unusual atmosphere.  Kanna waits for Mizuki to discard his jacket and baseball cap on the hat stand before leading the way to the small second bedroom Mei has converted into a makeshift studio.

“Derivative.  I’ll show them derivative,” Mei is mumbling resentfully to himself, streaking paint haphazardly across the canvas.

“Mei-kun?”

Even from the doorway, the pair can see the uncharacteristically sloppy brush strokes of the distorted, half-formed face that blemishes their lover’s canvas.

“Who is that?” asks Mizuki uncertainly.

“My _stupid_ professor,” Mei declares bitterly and takes another aggressive swipe at the saggy jowl.

“I take it your project critique didn’t go very well.”

Kanna’s sympathetic smile goes unnoticed as Mei continues to glare at the painting.

“She said that my style was derivative, my seascapes lacked emotional impact, and the colours I used were too pretty for them to be considered real art.”

“What does that even mean: ‘too pretty’?” Mizuki queries.  “Does something have to be ugly to be considered ‘real art’?”

“ _Apparently_ they look like those tacky prints people hang in the waiting rooms of dentists’ offices.”

Mizuki wraps himself around Mei from behind, and Kanna squeezes into the narrow space remaining against the painter’s side.

“What about all those things you were telling Mizuki-chan and me the other night – about how you chose seascapes because the waves make you feel calm and secure the same way we do?  And the… three of us were represented in the way you were doing the layers of colour?”

Not being able to tell one shade from another, some of the nuances have gotten lost in Kanna’s recollection, but he vividly remembers Mei’s enthusiastic gestures and sparkling eyes.  And Mei’s sighs of pleasure when they pounced on him later that evening, but that’s a distracting thought to be examined later.

“Yeah, I… _wanted_ to explain all of that, but one panellist would ask a question and then someone else would fire off something completely different before I’d even had time to answer.  And the few things I _did_ manage to say, my professor would twist in ways I didn’t mean, and the harder I tried, the worse I seemed to make it until I just… couldn’t seem to say anything at all.”

Mei roughly scrubs away the tears with the rag in his hand, streaking his face with paint.  Kanna rises up on his toes and plants an affectionate kiss on his lover’s smudged cheek while Mizuki nibbles at his ear.

“Forget about them, Baby.  I’d rather have a dozen of your pretty seascapes to hang on the wall than one ugly mess that some pompous idiot has declared a masterpiece.  We’re both so proud of you.  Aren’t we, Mizuki-kun?”

“Absolutely!”

Mei leans back against Mizuki’s willowy frame and gives Kanna a watery smile.

“I love you both. Colour vision or not, my life would be really grey without you.”

“We love you too, Mei-chan,” replies Kanna.

Mizuki nods in hearty agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **1)** What's this? Another OT3? Yes. Yes it is. The endings a little... meh. Sorry about that.  
>  **2)** The inspiration for this chapter came from a YouTube [artist](https://youtu.be/Jdbjzs2_1rY) I stumbled across while searching random watercolour painting videos. Watching him paint is hypnotic and relaxing, while the story he tells on this particular video is both sad and relatable. I think many of us have had something we're passionate about undervalued by people who are supposedly more "expert" than we are, and it really sucks.


End file.
